


Outside I’m Masquerading

by Spikedluv



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: Angst, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-31
Updated: 2011-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:39:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kris moves to L.A. to be with Adam, only to discover that Adam’s moved on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outside I’m Masquerading

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first Kris/Adam fic I posted. Present tense – I know, it just happened that way! Title taken (and some lyrics borrowed) from ‘Tracks of My Tears’ as performed by Adam Lambert.
> 
> Written: March 10, 2010

When Kris gets to Adam’s house the lights are on and there’s a couple of cars in the driveway; the only one he recognizes is Brad’s. He’d hoped to have Adam to himself, at least for a few hours, anyway, but he’s so happy to be there he doesn’t even care that they’ll have to wait until everyone clears out to have some private time.

He uses his key to open the door and the laughter is loud and grating on his ears. Until he hears Adam’s above it all. Kris smiles at the familiar sound, and the way it makes him feel at home. He drops his duffel and guitar case in the hallway, and then kicks off his shoes.

The first person he sees is Brad, who’s carrying a bottle of wine and a handful of wine glasses from the kitchen. He’s smiling when he notices Kris, but his face does some sort of weird twitch that Kris can’t decipher before the smile is back in place.

“Kris!” he says, diverting his path from where he was headed to the living room and coming over to give Kris a kiss and a strange straight arm hug, since both hands are full. “I didn’t know you were gonna be here,” he says, and follows it quickly with, “It’s good to see you, baby.”

“Thanks,” Kris says, smiling back at Brad, “it’s really good to be here.”

His good mood lasts until they both walk into the living room where Adam’s holding court. There’s a guy sitting on his lap, and Adam’s hand is down the back of his pants. Kris can feel the smile slide off his face, and his heart drop into his stomach.

It’s not like he expects Adam to be celibate when he’s not here – after all, Kris goes home to Katy – but he hadn’t expected Adam to flaunt it in his face when he knew Kris was coming to visit.

“Brad!” Adam says when he sees Brad in the doorway, and then his gaze slides to Kris. “And Kris!” he adds. The smile stays on his face, but it doesn’t go all the way to his eyes.

Adam slides the guy (who looks young enough to still be in school, Kris thinks, and then he wonders why _that’s_ the thing he notices) off his lap and moves across the room towards Kris.

“Car’ll be here in five,” Adam says to the others in the room, just before there’s a knock on the door. “Or now,” he amends. “Kris,” he says, reaching out to take Kris’ hand and draw him into the hallway. “We’re going out, but let me show you to your room first.”

Adam opens the front door, tells the driver they’ll be right out, and then shuts it and turns back to Kris. He picks up Kris’ duffel and guitar, then leads the way up the stairs. Kris follows, feeling sort of like Alice. Or maybe he’s somehow ended up in the Twilight Zone. Or Bizarro L.A.

They reach the master bedroom and Kris’ feet slow, but Adam doesn’t stop. Kris glances inside. There’s clothes thrown all over the place, but still Kris can tell that they’re not all Adam’s. There’s a scarf, and a pair of handcuffs that Kris doesn’t recognize, and a lone tube of lipstick on the night stand on Kris’ side of the bed, where he sets his glasses and sheet music when he stays with Adam.

“Sorry,” Adam says, and his voice sounds strangely flat, “there’s someone else staying with me right now.”

All Kris hears is _someone else_ repeating over and over in his head as his feet automatically follow Adam to the guest room.

Adam sets Kris’ bag and case down, and then he turns to Kris. He gives him a quick hug, then pulls back and takes his hands. “Listen, it’s really good to see you, but I don’t think this thing between us is gonna work,” he says. “It’s just not enough anymore.”

~*~*~*~

Kris feels like his whole world has just shifted, like the rug’s been pulled out from under his feet. By the time he recovers, Adam’s gone. Kris makes his legs move and races down the hallway, down the stairs.

“Adam!”

But Adam’s already at the door, ushering his friends out for a night of partying.

“Adam, wait!”

Adam doesn’t even look back. The click of the door latching behind Adam is loud in the sudden silence of the house, and it sounds like the end. Kris just stands there, staring at the closed door.

“It wasn’t enough for me, either,” Kris says to the empty room.

He drops down onto the step and lets his head fall into his hands. His chest feels like it’s been ripped open, his heart torn out, but he refuses to let himself cry.

Kris waits until he hears the car doors shut, and the car pull out, and then he waits some more. He doesn’t even know what he’s waiting for, exactly. Maybe for Adam to come back and tell him it was all a lie. But he knows that’s a futile hope. He grabs the banister and drags himself up to his feet, and then he slowly makes his way back up the stairs. His entire body aches, like he’s got the flu. Everything happened so fast, and he’d had no inkling that Adam was thinking about ending things, much less ready to take that final step.

Kris passes Adam’s bedroom, the room he used to think of as theirs, and something in his chest clenches even tighter. Adam’s home used to be his, as well, but now he’s just a guest, while Adam moves on with someone else, someone who isn’t him. He feels like a stranger, even to himself.

He wonders why Adam didn’t call and tell him over the phone, rather than make this dramatic announcement. But then again, maybe that was the point. Kris might not have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.

In the guest room Kris takes out his phone and calls Sandy, asks her to book him a room and text him back with the information. She doesn’t ask any questions, for which he’s so extremely grateful he considers giving her a raise.

Kris picks up his duffel and grabs his guitar case, and he walks out of the room without looking back. He knows there will be nothing left of himself there.

Kris slips his shoes on and leaves his key on the table beside the door, and then makes sure the door locks behind him. No turning back. He doesn’t throw his stuff into the rental, though he feels like it. When he gets behind the wheel his hands are shaking too badly to insert the key into the ignition, much less drive. He lowers his head, rests his forehead against the steering wheel and fights against the tears stinging behind his eyes.

When his phone buzzes, Kris checks the message. He starts the car and then punches the address Sandy sent him into the GPS with fingers that have gone surprisingly steady. He drives to the hotel, and he checks in, and he doesn’t remember a moment of it.

He waits until he’s locked in his hotel room before calling Katy. He tells her that it’s over, that Adam’s moved on.

“Did you tell him?” Katy says.

“There didn’t seem to be any point,” Kris says, and doesn’t disagree when Katy calls him an idiot.

He _was_ an idiot, if not for the reasons Katy thinks. For thinking this would work out, for thinking he was someone Adam would want to spend forever with.

~*~*~*~

The next morning Kris remembers the personal belongings he’s having shipped. A call to Sandy sends it all to storage. He puts off making a decision on getting his own place; he’s not sure he even wants to stay in L.A. if Adam’s not in the picture.

He stays hidden in his room, existing on room service and stale air, and writes song after song. They’re all about heartbreak and loneliness, and Kris isn’t sure he wants to put that much of himself on display for public scrutiny. He drinks more than he should, but since he’s locked up in his room not doing anything but writing maudlin songs, he figures it doesn’t matter.

Sandy and Katy conspire behind his back to get him out of his hotel room, though probably they’d be happy if he worked up the energy to shower. Sandy sets up some interviews and schedules studio time, and Katy tells him that she’ll kick his ass if he doesn’t get out there. Kris believes her.

So he showers, but he refuses to shave because he just doesn’t give a shit. He wears his oldest, most comfortable plaid shirt. They tell him he looks like a mountain man. Kris admits he’s been holed up, writing.

When they ask if the songs are for his next album, Kris doesn’t say no, exactly, just that he’s got studio time booked and, “we’ll see.”

He goes on a local radio station, and does an interview for an online music review blog, and then gets up early for Good Morning America. He lies when they ask him what he’s doing in L.A.; tells them he’s working on his next album, and doesn’t mention that he’d come to be with Adam and gotten his heart broken instead.

When they ask about Katy, Kris just says she’s back in Arkansas, and when they ask about Adam, Kris says that he saw him when he first got to L.A., but they’ve both been so busy since . . . He manages to not choke on the lie when he says he’ll catch up with Adam after the album’s finished.

It’s just Kris and his guitar in the studio. He demos half a dozen songs, wondering if they’re all going to sound the same – sad and emo – when he plays them back. Turns out he likes the songs, and they work with just his acoustic, sounding spare and haunting.

Kris tells Sandy he’s staying in L.A. to record, and she finds him a rental with a short term lease, which is fine with Kris. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do after the album is finished, but he’s pretty certain he won’t be staying in L.A., especially after he sees photos of Adam and his latest fling on the covers of all the trashy celebrity magazines one day on his way to the studio.

Kris ends up writing all twelve of the songs that are going to be on his album. He sends a copy of the demos of all of them to Katy, and she calls him back crying and tells him they’re beautiful, and then calls him an idiot again. She says, “Call him,” before she hangs up, but Kris can’t imagine what good that would do.

The album’s almost finished when Sandy books Kris for a charity fund raiser. He doesn’t know what it’s for, and he really doesn’t care, which isn’t like him. Normally he’d be all over it, using his name and his face to bring in the donations, but he doesn’t have anything left over after he’s spent the day wringing his heart out in the studio.

There’s going to be dozens of performers and he only has to sing one song. As difficult as it’s going to be to go public with any of them, he chooses one off his upcoming album to debut there.

The night of the event Kris is driven to the back entrance. He gets out of the car with his guitar case and immediately runs into someone. When he looks up and sees that he’s nearly knocked Adam off his feet, Kris’ fingers go numb and he almost drops his guitar.

Of course Adam would be there, Kris thinks, cursing silently to himself. Kris hadn’t thought about what this moment would be like, because he’d done everything in his power to make sure it never occurred. Still, he figures that the real surprise isn’t that it happened at all, but that it hadn’t happened sooner.

He’s going to kill Sandy the next time he sees her; she had to have known that Adam was going to be here when she signed him up.

There’s a ton of security holding the paps back, but as soon as they see Kris and Adam standing together they’re all clamoring for photos of the two of them. Kris pins on a smile as fake as Adam’s and they pose together as the flashes go off. As soon as he thinks he can do so without raising any eyebrows, Kris peels away from Adam and starts walking towards the door being held open by another security guard.

His steps falter when one of the paps call out, “Kris, is it true about the divorce?”

Kris catches himself, doesn’t let his expression change. He squares his shoulders, says something polite to the security guard as he passes him, and then follows someone with a clipboard who seems to know where he’s supposed to go.

Before he reaches the safety of whatever room they’re stashing him in for the next half hour until he goes on, a warm hand as familiar as his own closes over his shoulder. Kris steels himself, then turns to face Adam.

Adam’s face is ashen and he looks like he’s been gut punched. Kris wonders if that’s how he looked when Adam had told him they were over.

“Is it true?”

Kris thinks about lying, but he hasn’t worn his ring in months, not since he took it off before coming to L.A., and besides, it’s public record by now, so all Adam would have to do is Google him. “Yes.”

“Wh-why didn’t you say anything?”

There’s a buzzing in Kris’ ears and he feels hot all over; he thinks he might pass out. “I was going to tell you when I got to L.A.,” he says, “but you made it pretty clear that you’d moved on, so there didn’t seem to be much point.”

Kris pulls out of Adam’s hold and follows the clipboard. Kris had originally thought that he’d head backstage and listen to the acts performing before him, but he locks himself in the room he’s shown to and forces himself not to break down in tears. They’d only make him look blotchy on stage, and his voice would be for shit. He gets out his guitar and practices, trying to relax.

When they come for him, Kris is as ready as he can be. He’s tense as they lead him backstage, fearing another encounter with Adam. When there isn’t one, Kris tells himself that it’s relief he’s feeling, not disappointment.

He walks out onto the stage, and (as it will be on his album) it’s just him and his guitar. He sits on the stool and settles the guitar on his lap, then adjusts the microphone. It was going to be difficult enough when he was laying himself open for the thousands, maybe millions of people in the auditorium and watching live on television, but now that he knows Adam is there, Kris almost can’t make his throat work.

“This one’s off my new album,” he finally says as he strums the first few bars, and then sings, baring his broken heart for everyone (Adam) to see.

~*~*~*~

Kris leaves as quickly as he can after his performance. He accepts congratulations backstage, grabs his guitar case, and hightails it out of there before he has to see Adam again. He doesn’t think he could do that again, ever.

On the drive home he considers calling Sandy and having her book him a flight to anywhere, but he decides he doesn’t want anyone to know where he’s going. He’ll just pack his duffel and head to the airport, take the first flight out. It doesn’t matter where he goes, as long as it’s someplace where Adam _isn’t_.

Kris takes a shower to wash off the sweat he’d broken into the moment he saw Adam, and the memory of Adam’s hand on his shoulder, the haunted look in his eyes, even though he knows it’ll take more than soap and water to wash away the latter. He pulls on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, then remembers to check his phone.

He’d turned it off before the performance, and had been too distracted to remember to turn it back on after. There’s two missed calls from Katy, and one from Adam. Kris’ heart skips a beat when he sees Adam’s name there, and realizes he’d never taken Adam out of his contacts. He deletes his call history and makes a note to remove Adam, and then calls Katy back.

They talk while he packs his duffel. It doesn’t take long; even after nearly three months, he doesn’t have much more than he arrived with. Katy congratulates him on his performance, and tells him that the song moved her to tears. Again. She hesitates, then says, “I saw Adam’s performance.”

Kris freezes at the sound of Adam’s name, heart racing in his chest like he’d just run a race.

“I don’t suppose you stayed to watch it.”

“No,” Kris says, and it’s sharper than he’d intended. “Sorry, but, really, no.”

He sighs and drops down onto the edge of the bed, pushes his hand through his hair. He thinks about telling Katy that he’d run into Adam, but the newly opened wound is still too raw. Instead he says, “Listen, Katy, I’m leaving L.A.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“But what about your album?”

“It’s nearly done; I don’t need to be here for this bit.”

“But I thought you were enjoying learning . . . .”

Kris cuts her off. “There’ll be other albums.”

“Okay. Well. Where are you going?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Kris.” She sounds resigned when she says, “Will you at least promise to keep in touch so I don’t worry?”

She’ll worry anyway, but Kris says, “Of course.”

“All right. Well. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Be careful.”

“I will.”

“Kris?”

“Yes?”

“Do me a favor?”

The tone of her voice is warning enough, and Kris knows he sounds suspicious when he says, “What?”

“Talk to him before you leave.”

“Katy.”

“Just think about it.”

“I will,” he lies.

The doorbell rings and Kris uses it as an excuse to end the call. “I’ve got to go, Katy, my car’s here.”

“Okay,” Katy says, and she sounds a little bit anxious but Kris doesn’t catch it because he’s too relieved to be able to end this conversation. He flips his phone shut and pads barefooted to the front door, having partly convinced himself that his driver really will be standing there, when he knows full well that he’d call up when he arrived.

Kris pulls the door open, and then nearly slams it shut when he sees Adam standing there. Instead he tightens his grip on the edge of the door until it’s painful, and makes himself hold his ground.

“What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t bother asking how Adam found him, because he has a pretty good idea.

“Can we talk?”

“Not sure what we have to talk about,” Kris says. “Besides, I’m on my way out.”

“Please.”

Kris wants very much to say ‘no’, but it’s Adam, and even after everything that’s happened he apparently still can’t say no to him. Kris steps back and gives Adam enough room to slip into the apartment past him. He pushes the door shut, and then turns around.

Adam is taking in the apartment, running his hand through his hair despite the fact that it’s totally ruining the style he’d started out with. Kris notices for the first time that much of Adam’s make up has been wiped off, and his face is splotchy with patches of foundation fighting for space amongst his freckles.

“Nice place.”

It’s really not, and Kris knows it. The place came furnished, bland enough to not offend anyone, and Kris hadn’t bothered bringing any of himself into the space since he wouldn’t be staying long. “It’s just temporary,” he says.

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere,” Kris says, and Adam winces when he hears the unspoken, ‘that’s not here.’ “What do you want, Adam?”

“I lied.”

Kris isn’t sure he wants to know, but he says, “About what?”

He feels like he’s been slapped when Adam says, “Everything.”

Adam notices his reaction and says, “Oh, god, no, not that! The whole, making you believe I’d was seeing someone else thing when you . . . .”

Adam really doesn’t have to say anything further, because Kris will never forget that day as long as he lives.

“Brad didn’t realize until after, and he was pretty pissed that I’d used him,” Adam admits.

Kris wants to know, but can’t make himself ask who was sleeping in Adam’s bed, but Adam can still read him.

“Brad came over early so we could get dressed together.”

When Kris can finally make himself speak, he says, “Why would you do that?”

“Because it wasn’t enough anymore,” Adam says. He gives a humorless laugh. “That part was true at least. And I knew if I asked you to choose, you’d choose Katy.”

“So that was, what, a preemptive strike?” Adam can’t even look at him, and that pisses Kris off, because this is all Adam’s fault to begin with. “Except you were wrong,” he grinds out, “because I chose you.”

Kris shakes his head. “Christ, Adam, you couldn’t just talk to me about it? You had to break my heart in front of an audience?”

Kris has never seen Adam look so beat down, and it makes him angry because he’s the one who’s the injured party here. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. You should leave now.”

Kris pushes past Adam and heads to the bedroom. He’s going to put on his shoes, and grab his duffel, and then he’s leaving L.A., and if he can manage it, he’s never coming back. When he gets to the bedroom, though, he’s still so full of hurt rage that he’s vibrating with it. He walks over to the closet door and slams it shut.

When it springs back open, he slams it again. And again, until Adam’s there, grabbing him and pulling him away. Kris turns and pounds his fists against Adam’s chest, his shoulders, his arms, and Adam just lets him.

“Fight back!” Kris growls. “Hit me, damn it!”

Adam shakes his head, says, “I’ve already hurt you enough.”

He looks so sad, and even though Kris can’t forget that Adam did this to them, he can’t stand seeing him looking like that. He drags Adam’s head down and kisses him. It’s angry, and it’s desperate, and it’s hungry.

Adam wraps Kris up in his arms, holding him so tight it almost hurts, and kisses him back. It’s like a battle as they lurch about the room, knocking into walls and dressers. A lamp crashes to the floor and Kris can’t bring himself to care. It’s almost an accident when they finally find the bed.

Kris goes down first and Adam lands on top of him. He tries to move his weight off of Kris, but Kris doesn’t let him. He wraps his legs around Adam’s, and he licks and bites at Adam’s mouth. He’s leaving marks, and he thinks he might feel bad about that (but probably not) except he can feel Adam’s fingers digging into his hips, as if he’s afraid to let go of him.

They kiss and touch and rub, and his climax, when it finally comes, is more cathartic than spectacular, punching holes in the wall that Kris had built to hold back the tidal wave of emotion. Kris thinks he might be a little bit embarrassed about breaking down and wiping tears and snot on Adam’s fancy shirt, if Adam wasn’t holding him tight and crying some tears of his own.

Kris feels worn out after, like he’s just done three concerts in a row without a break in between. He thinks he could stay right there, never moving again, except he’s so stuffed up now from crying that he can’t breathe. He disentangles himself from Adam and staggers into the bathroom. He blows his nose and splashes water on his face, and then studies his reflection in the mirror.

When Adam appears in the doorway, Kris makes room for him at the sink. He turns on the shower, and then begins stripping off clothes that had been clean less than an hour ago. Adam looks uncertain and Kris hates that. He tries to tell himself that this is not his fault, he did not tear them apart, but part of him acknowledges that it _is_ partly his doing, because he’d been selfish when he’d tried to hold onto both Katy and Adam, giving each of them just a part of himself.

Kris unfastens Adam’s shirt and pants and helps him out of his boots, and then draws him into the shower with him. Together they wash away the hurt they’d inflicted on each other these past three months, the past few years.

~*~*~*~

6am the next morning finds them on a private jet headed towards Provincetown, Massachusetts. As exhausted as they both were, they couldn’t fall asleep, so Adam had called a friend of a friend who owned a place right on the beach, and then made flight arrangements.

Katy sends him a copy of a photo of the two of them, duffels thrown over their shoulders, arm around each other, headed from the car to the jet, with the text _good luck, love u, stay off internet._ Kris plans to.

He falls asleep as soon as the jet takes off, wrapped up in Adam’s arms. When Kris wakes, Adam is still beside him. His eyes are closed, but tears glisten in his eyelashes and Kris can tell by his breathing that he’s awake.

Kris reaches up a hand and touches Adam’s face. “Hey.”

Adam’s eyes open.

“What’s wrong?”

Adam removes an ear bud and shakes his head. Kris slips the bud into his own ear, and hears his own voice. Adam’s been listening to the demos Kris had recorded before making the album. Kris removes both ear buds and turns off the iPod, sets it aside.

“That was before.”

“I’m so sorry,” Adam says.

It still hurts, but it hurts less when Adam holds him like he’ll never let him go again.

Two days later Kris’ phone buzzes with another text from Katy. He’s gotten texts and voice mails, both angry and worried, from at least a half dozen people, but Katy’s the only one he bothers to answer after one text to Sandy to tell her to cancel everything for a week, maybe two.

Kris sits on a lounge on a deck overlooking the ocean. He’s wrapped up in a blanket, waiting for Adam to return with the hot cocoa he’d gone inside to make. It’s off season in Provincetown so there aren’t many tourists, and the locals have probably seen enough celebrities (closeted or not) that they don’t pay them too much attention the one time they’d ventured out for food after sleeping 18 hours straight.

Kris opens the text. It’s just a link, with the command, _watch this!_ Kris follows the link to a clip on youtube. It’s Adam’s performance at the charity fund raiser. Kris recognizes the stage set up, but even if he didn’t, the title of the clip would have told him.

Kris watches closely as Adam walks on stage. He looks beautiful to Kris, even though some of his stage presence appears to be missing. Adam sits on the same stool that Kris had used, but he takes the microphone out of the stand and holds it like it’s a lifeline.

“This isn’t the song I’d planned on singing tonight,” he says, and his voice sounds scratchy and rough. “My band . . .” Two spot lights crisscross the stage, highlighting the band sitting silent behind him. “. . . is just here for moral support, since I changed the song on them at the last minute, and we haven’t practiced it.”

There’s a moment of silence, as if Adam needs to collect himself before continuing. “I fell in love,” he says, “and then I really screwed everything up. And I want him to know how sorry I am for that.”

Adam has a tendency to over share with the media, but Kris had never seen him share something this deeply personal before.

After a beat, Adam raises his face and begins to sing.

 _People say I’m the life of the party, ‘cause I tell a joke or two._

Kris lets the sound of Adam’s voice wash over him, fingers pressed to the screen as if he could reach out and touch him. When Adam gets to, _If you look closer, it’s easy to trace, the tracks of my tears,_ the camera zooms in and show a close up of Adam’s face, tears openly streaming down his cheeks.

Kris knows it’s not faked because Adam’s eyes are red and his eyeliner is smudged, his make up streaked, and Adam normally wouldn’t let anyone see him not completely put together. Kris wonders what it says about him that he feels better knowing that Adam bared a piece of himself that day, as well.

Adam appears from the house and sets two mugs of hot cocoa on the table beside the lounge. Kris leans forward so that Adam can slip into the empty space behind him, but doesn’t take his eyes off the screen of his phone.

“What are you . . . ? Oh, that,” Adam says, and his voice sounds a little bit shaky. “Probably not my best performance ever.”

“I think it’s amazing,” Kris says as he settles himself back against Adam, and lets Adam rearrange the blanket over them.

When it’s over, Kris twists around until he can lay his face against Adam’s chest, feels his heart beating beneath his cheek, and hits replay. Adam gives a little snort, but just wraps his arms around Kris and holds on.

After the second viewing, Kris saves Katy’s text so he doesn’t lose the link, and then slides the phone back into his pocket. He slips one hand beneath Adam’s hoodie, and smiles when Adam jerks at the touch of his chilled fingers.

Kris feels a little bit out of his element, and then he realizes that he’s happy. It’s been a while since he’s felt so loved, and content to be right where he is. He slides his hand up Adam’s side, and speaks so softly that he’s not sure Adam will even hear him.

“I choose you.”

But Adam does hear him, of course. He tips Kris’ head back and kisses him, then kisses him again, harder.

“I choose you, too,” Adam says, and then he takes his time, spends the rest of the afternoon taking Kris apart and putting him back together again. Each gentle touch says _I’m sorry,_ and each kiss says, _I love you,_ and when Adam finally finishes with him, Kris thinks he can let himself believe it.

The End


End file.
